Catfight
by Anniya Late
Summary: Dean runs into a bit of post-hunt trouble with at least one unlikely foe, without Sam to back him up. Takes place sometime in Season 1. Rated T for minor language. Please read & review.


****

**Summary: Dean runs into a bit of post-hunt trouble with unlikely at least one unlikely foe, without Sam to back him up. Takes place sometime in Season 1**

Words: 1,519

**Characters: Sam, Dean**

**Disclaimer: Me no owny; you no sue me, yus?**

**A/N: This idea came about by watching the Kitty Half-Time show of Puppy Bowl II at like 4am. ****Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.**

Catfight

"Are you gonna be all day or what, Princess?" Dean called out to Sam, who was yet again taking forever in the bathroom while he was being the responsible older sibling that he was and doing a final sweep of the room, making sure they left nothing important behind.

"Don't rush me, Jerk! I'll be out in a few." Sam snapped from the other side of the closed door.

"Hey, don't get snippy with me cause you woke up on the ugly side of the bed this morning, Bitch. Hurry up, I'm starving and wanna hit that diner once more before we leave."

"Yeah, yeah."

Dean walked out into the afternoon light to place his duffel in the car, enjoying the warm feel of sunshine on his face. Instead of the usual early checkout, they slept in due to the unusually soft motel beds as well as the newly acquired aches and pains from the wrapped up hunt against one mother of a ghost. (No, seriously, it was someone's mother. Her ghost was haunting the family home, pissed off at her kids for shipping her old, bitter ass to the furthest resting home they could.) The brother's Winchester were called in to do their job and given a few knocks and bruises for their troubles. Eh, life as normal.

For a brief moment he enjoys the weather and odd simplicity of his life. Fighting fuglies, saving families, avenging lives lost, hooking up with the occasional hottie, and best of all, traveling in the sexiest thing on four wheels with Lil Sammy. Well, _big _Sammy, his pain in the ass little brother and best friend in the whole world. Not that he'd ever tell Sam that. Dean basks in the warmth of the sun for a moment longer, eyes closed, slight smirk on his face before shaking himself out of his reverie, moving towards his car. And then he freezes midstep, smile fading.

What's got him stopping? The sight of these lump-like things atop his car–one grey, one orange, two black and white–and, they're all...furry. "What the...?" He moves slowly towards his car again, circling it, trynna figure out what the hell kinda trash some dick left on his car and who he now has to kill. Squinting, he moves closer to the grey lump laying on the passenger side of the roof, swearing the damned thing was moving. The bag forgotten at his feet, he leans closer still, ready to prod the foreign lump when it uncurls, stands and stretches. Purring all the while. Cats. Awesome.

Now, normally, Dean doesn't have any problem with cats. Except when they're sunbathing on his beloved Impala and standing–or lazing about–in his way of getting some awesome diner pie.

"Hey, you cat. Get the hell of my car," He speaks to the newly-identified lump, noticing the way its nails scratch across his baby's clean finish. And as the cat barely looks in his direction after finishing its stretch and recurling upon the roof, Dean decides he doesn't like cats very much.

"Hey, Inkblot with fur, you and your pals need to clear out. You're getting your kitty-cooties and fur all over my car." He glances from the one on the trunk to the two on the hood and back, seeing no response. "Do you all have catnip in your ears or something? Scram!" Still no response except the orange on the trunk calmly swishing his tail back and fro in the gentle breeze. His dislike for cats increases by the second.

"Okay, enough of this!" Dean makes to grab the one off the roof and the formerly docile, sunbathing bastard lashes out, catching Dean on the back of his left hand. "Sonofabitch!" Frowning at the scratch on his hand and then up at the offending life form–ears drawn back ready to strike again–he doesn't hear the motel door open. He does, however, hear the laughter from one very Sasquatch-like brother. Dean throws a glare over his shoulder and turns back to see the orange cat has joined the future road-kill grey one on his roof. He didn't even hear the damn thing _move_! "Why you stealthy lil bastards." Apparently not liking what he said, the Garfield-wannabe takes a swipe at him, emitting a ferocious hiss. Hunter-mode reflexes kick in and Dean jumps back quickly, the fast paw narrowly missing marring his face. The laughter behind him grows. _A lotta help you are, Sammy_. Refusing to back down from any fight, even if it's an _actual _catfight, Dean in his best cat-imitation hisses back loudly, smirking after and nodding once in triumph at the sound he produces.

But in Pussy-nese it must've been some slight against their street urchin of a mother cause now the two black and whites–looking like the inverts of each other–have awaken and joined the first two, a deep unified growl rising from down in their throats. Dean's eyebrows shoot into his hairline, staring at the gang of cats ready to jump him if he dared to so much as breath wrong.

Sure, he's fought worse, much worse; more aggressive and hairier too. But none of the things he and Sam fought would have PETA chasing them relentlessly across the country state-after-state if he ganks these suckers with at least one of his many knives and guns. Besides, Sam being the big girl that he is would never forgive him if he killed a bunch of non-possessed cats, even if the furry dicks started it. At least he thinks they're not possessed. Tempted to test his theory, he has the sudden notion to sprinkle them with holy water. It doesn't seem like the most terrible idea seeing as how cats hated water, right? On second thought, maybe not the best idea. Either they'd scurry away or strike full force, scratching the skin from his bones in a flurry of knife-pointed paws. Further still, the holy water was in the bag and he didn't think he could get into the bag, search for it and use it before being attacked.

Dammit, if he could just get into his baby and start her, he's pretty sure the roar of her engine would chase the scoundrels away. But going through the passenger door, closing it, and hitting the ignition without being followed in and mauled violently wasn't looking like a promising solution either.

He weighed his options quickly going with a revised version of idea #2. _Here goes nothing_.

"Alright, alright," Dean threw his hands up in mock-surrender taking another step back from the car, moving sideways around the car, four sets of glassy, unblinking eyes following him. Step-by-step he made his way to the driver's side door, hand rooting around for his car keys, one hand still up, palm open. Coming up empty, he switched hands searching his other pocket before a jingling in the distance caught his attention. Sam swung the keys from his finger in a circular motion, a highly entertained expression riding his face before he disappeared back inside the motel room, a bark of laughter echoing in his wake.

Dean's shoulders slumped in real defeat now and he glared back at the roof-posse as he moved back around to snatch up his bag, heading into the room.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean growled slamming the door behind him, tossing his bag next to his bed. Sam sat on the opposite bed, red in the face and trying so hard to breath through his bottled laughter, but the outraged look on Dean's face did him in and he fell back on the bed howling with laughter. "Bitch," Dean muttered before flopping down on his bed, hands cross his chest in a very un-pout-like manner.

"Jerk," Sam gasped out between laughing and gulps of air.

Hours later when the flea-infested thugs finally dispersed, leaving behind multi-colored trails of cat hair and one grossly-huge hair ball–courtesy of one orange jackass if the color was anything to go by–Sam and Dean had checked out and were now sitting in the diner. They hadn't spoken much except the ½ hourly asked 'They still there?' and Dean's simple reply of 'Yup', answered from his position at the window. Other than that, it was the silent treatment for Sam, who still chuckled every now and again at a situation Dean deemed very unfunny.

They sat across from each other, having just ordered, Dean gazing out the booth window afraid to take his eyes of his baby for a moment longer than necessary. Sam cleared his throat catching his still-peeved being brother's attention as well as another heated glare when Dean noticed the way Sam's face twitched with barely contained laughter.

Dean rolled his eyes, sighing harshly, "Dude, what?"

Sam cleared his throat again and erased all traces of humor from his face–not an easy task, mind you–before answering all serious-like, "I never thought I'd see the day Dean Winchester would be afraid of a lil pussy."

All around the diner a loud thud was heard as Dean's head hit the table, followed by a muffled groan.

Dean _really_ doesn't like cats. Or Sam.

The End

**My first Supernatural [and completed**_** ever**_**] fanfic! Liked it? Hated it? Review, purddy pleaseness, let me know what you thought.**


End file.
